


Filtching

by Umbralpilot



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Basically sadness, Gen, Leo's a jerk, Shippy if you Squint, Zo should know better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1620674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbralpilot/pseuds/Umbralpilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can’t you go steal something with actual value?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filtching

The pencil hadn’t been worth stealing. Not that Zo thinks anyone can blame him for trying - all that talk about genius, it’s more reasonable to assume that anything on Leonardo’s person has got some kind of miracle attached to it. It’s only a plain old charcoal pencil, though, with no personal part in the sorcery that it weaves when it flies across the pages of Leo’s little book. Zo puts it behind his own ear in imitation of his friend. He walks around the workshop like that while waiting for Leo to notice that his pencil is gone, glazing starry eyes and twitching his fingers and making Vanessa and Nico giggle despite themselves. _I’m Leo da Vinci. My genius head is full of stupid ideas that I never finish and even my piss-pot is magic._

"I know it’s you, Zo!" There it goes, right on cue. The artist bestirs himself from his glorious dreams and demands the return of the hostage. His fingers are twitching too, madly. "Give it back."

"Why - what’s so special about it?" Zo throws back, knowing there’s nothing special. Leo glowers, making Nico cough uncomfortably and fall silent, while Vanessa is just entertained further.

"Just get another, Leo."

“ _No!_ " Leo barks, and move on Zo, who steps back nimbly as though he isn’t the much bigger man. "They are not all the same! I’ve had enough of you filching things. Can’t you go steal something with actual value?"

"There’re two kinds of value," Zo says with a shrug and ducks a grabbing hand with no effort whatsoever. "One’s in gold. The other’s in coming out clever."

"So you’re the scholar now?" Leo backs him into a corner, between two slabs of marble. He has to stretch and crane up his neck to direct a proper glare into Zo’s eyes. He definitely can’t tower over him. When he’s pissed off like this, he forgets to be quick and bright and basically paws at Zo’s catch like an irate toddler. "This is the fifth one!"

"Sixth." If they were really special, you’d think Leo would’ve kept track…

"Even worse! And, and the drafting compass the other day, two brushes, a ladle, a pair of _shoes_ …" Leo punctuates the list with frantic arm gestures. "Look, if you’re that desperate for money - "

"No one would buy your crap, Leo," Zo says bluntly, because he doesn’t trust Leo not to get a different idea. Like his old shoes have value for the ages. The artist scowls and makes another leap for the pencil. Zo jerks it up and out of his reach. He manages to dangle Leo on that string for another minute, before he gets a huff of disgust and Leo imperiously orders Nico to go get a new pencil. Nico, being good little Nico, hops to immediately. Leo turns his back on Zo very deliberately, but it’s only another moment of anything resembling attention. His fingers begin to dance again. He starts pacing around the workshop, muttering feverishly to himself. Zo doesn’t even know why he needs the pencil and paper, when it’s all in his mind. He doesn’t need anything except his mind.

But for himself, Zo tucks the pencil in a shirt pocket for safekeeping. Pencils, brushes, a drafting compass. A ladle, old shoes. It’s not much, and none of it is magic, but it’s enough by which to know that a man is real, that he’s lived and laughed and been more than a good or bad dream. And a part of him knows, even as Leo forgets that a pencil has ever been lost, that it’s the best that he’s ever going to get.


End file.
